Book 2: Chapter 57: Curtain Call
“So, trackin’ magic, eh?” I frowned at the stupidly gaudy business card.
Richter pointed at some of the faintly glowing runes. “Aye. It’s a standard type.”
“See!? A right bastard!” Johnsson complained.
I rolled my eyes. “Ugh. He was insufferable to talk to, too. I’m glad I had ya check. Thanks Richter!”
Richter was downright smug. “Just happy ta use my new Blessing for da brewery.”
Blackbeard had cornered me at the launch party and waxed poetic about Kinshasa and becoming one of his ‘minions’ for hours. He’d tried to bribe me with gold, girls, power, and everything in between. I’d stumped him by asking for hops. He’d given a little jump, just in case that was what I was asking for, which was adorable in its own way. Too bad he was such an egotistical frizzface. At least he’d taken no for an answer, though he’d extracted a promise out of me to come visit when we made it to the capital.
“What are you going to do with it?” Aqua asked, pointing at the erstwhile business card.
I *hrm*’ed. “Coupla options. Can ya remove it, Richter?”
“Aye, easy. Easier dan makin’ it anyway.”
“I can think of a few ways ta make use of it given that I know it has tracking, but he doesn’t know I know. He strikes me as the special kind of moron that overestimates himself and underestimates everyone else,” I continued.
“Go on…” Aqua hedged.
“I could put it on the bottom of a cart headed out East and make him think I’m somewhere else. I could keep it on me just long enough for him to get used to knowing where I am, then give it to someone else at an opportune moment. I could feed it to a monster, ask a [Displacer] to teleport it somewhere far away, try to reverse it so it tracks him, give it to a gnomish ninja and ask them to follow exactly ten paces behind him at all times…”
All the dwarves gathered gave me wary looks. Annie just shook her head.
“That’s… pretty tricksy Pete.” Johnsson hedged.
“Almost elvish.” Kirk accused. “And I’ve actually met elves.”
“What can I say? I’m a card carrying maniac!” I grinned.
There was a concentrated moan, and we returned to the serious business of preparations. Georgie moved crates of bottles and various pieces of brewing equipment. Johnsson, Markus, and Moony laboured with cleaning out the tanks. Annie carefully drew schematics of our current brewing setup, while ordering Aqua around. And Kirk, of course, cleaned the rafters for possibly the last time with Zirce and Emma.
We bickered, we laughed, we cried. There was a lot of crying.
This past week we made some hard decisions on who was staying, and who was leaving. Simply put, we didn’t have enough people to dwarf both the brewery here, and the new brewery in Kinshasa.
Markus and Moony were the first to volunteer to stay behind. They were getting on in years and didn’t want to deal with uprooting. Zirce and Emma were next. Both of them had too many friends and relations here in Minnova, and their old jobs were happy to take them back.
John and Jeremiah agreed to come out of retirement to keep things running. They did, of course, require that Georgie stay behind to protect their aching backs.
Johnsson was desperate to come, as was Aqua, though Richter was still undecided. He still had thoughts of joining the University here. We told him that he had until the day before departure to decide.
Annie and Balin and I were no-brainers, as was Kirk. Having a porter to port while we traveled the weeks-long journey to Kinshasa would be invaluable.
Lemontwist agreed to stay and run the kitchen, and Bran was going to give his ‘will he stay or will he go’ tonight.
And then it was time for our last party in Minnova. A combination Blessing Party for Johnsson and going away bash. Catered by…. Joejam.
Yes, not Bran. Bran was one of the guests of honour, so of course he couldn’t cook for his own party!
—
We all lined up in the foyer to greet the attendees. I felt a pang of nostalgia as I looked around the place, remembering how intimidating it had been coming in here for the first time. It had changed a lot, with whistlemugs and beer bottles lining the walls, plus the addition of a small painting of Balin and I.
The first to arrive were, of course, the pro-drinkers. Rumbob and Beatbox trundled in with a *ho ho ho* and a *hee hee hee* and immediately set to preparing a game of axeschlaggen. The gigantic southerner Chuck was set upon by Emma and Zirce, while Emerelda set upon me. Tania the Tank lugged an enormous gift through the door right behind them, and said it was for Balin.
An agog Silverpen followed after with a lady-friend on his elbow.
The next to arrive were Bran, Opal, and surprise of all surprises, Grim and Speaker John!
I ran up and dodged Grim’s fist bump to deliver a tackling hug. “Grim! You old mine manager you! What are you doin’ here!”
“Urf! I see you ‘aven’t changed, Pete.” Grim growled, holding up a small cask. “Here. I brought you a radler, ya lunatic.”
“Awwww, you shouldn’t have!”
“Yer damn right I shouldn’t ‘ave!!”
“I invited my parents, but they weren’t interested.” Opal sighed. “They wanted to meet with more of the Kinshasa nobles before they all leave.”
“Well, we don’t need ‘em! Come in, come in! Make yourselves comfortable, and Grim, you have to try the Liquid Gold! Speaker John, it’s good to see you again!”
Grim turned slightly pink. “I already did. Had a barrel shipped out to tha mine first thing. It started another damn brawl. Yer causin’ me headaches when you ain’t even around!”
“Have fun! Please remember not to give Penelope any beer or snacks though. We’re trying to keep her weight down, and you don’t want her getting any barista brew.”
They wandered in, Speaker John nodding at me as he passed, and Grim was quickly roped into playing axeschlaggen while Bran and Opal chatted up Rumbob the [Tavernic Matchmaker]. Bran kept moving to help with the food, and Opal kept yanking him back with an iron grip on his arm. Good luck, Bran!
The trickle quickly turned into a flood, and there were soon a myriad of dwarves I didn’t even recognize. Copperpot and company, a disguised Raspberrysyrup and Amethyst, friends of Johnsson and Aqua from the beardy parlour, Richter’s acquaintances from the library - including a blushing Pazmin Gemsdotter. Just about everybody I knew from my time in Minnova was here.
And it was a lot! I’d been a busy dwarf!
The last face I recognized was Knicknack, our neighbour with the general store. He and his daughter Spruceleaf came bearing snacks and Balin and Jeremiah's favourite pickled herring.
“Hullo Knicknack, Spruceleaf! Glad you could make it!”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Knickknack grouched. “I’ll finally be rid of you crazy lot. Just in time for my retirement too! I still haven’t forgotten how you blew up my sho!”
I gave his daughter a set of raised eyebrows, and she sighed. “We will miss you. All of your recent parties were really good for business,” she confided.
“Well, far be it from me to spurn your well wishes.” I said, turning a beaming smile on Knickknack. “I actually have a present for you too!”
I passed over a folded page that I’d been holding onto for just this occasion.
“What is it?” Knicknack regarded it suspiciously and didn’t take it. “It’s not a business partnership is it? You’ve been finagling far too many gnomes into those recently.”
I choked. “No, it’s a present, with no strings attached.”
He opened it and read. “Beer nuts?”
“Aye. They don’t have beer in them, but they’re great with beer!”
Spruceleaf read over her father’s shoulder. “This looks easy enough, but why?”
“Because it’ll be the best thing since Whistlemugs with any heavy drinker.” I grinned. “I’m leaving it for you, but I hope it’ll also bring business to us.”
Beer nuts were simple enough to make, especially now that I had all my cookbooks.
Pete’s Frankly Delicious Beer Nuts
Ingredients:
2 Cups of Peanuts or Other Nuts
Pinch of Salt
1 Teaspoon Sugar
1 Cup of Water
1 Teaspoon Frank’s Red Hot Sauce
Steps:
Boil the sugar, peanuts, water, salt, and hot sauce until the liquid is fully absorbed.Preheat the oven to 300 degrees.Spread the coated peanuts on a pan. Bake for 20 minutes.
Of course, I had told them to use spicy cayenne spice instead of Frank’s.
Spruceleaf led her father away as he read the instructions again, giving me a wink and a smile as she did so.
Then it was back to greeting people. When the flow of newcomers died to a trickle, I headed into the pub to mingle, leaving Annie and Richter to run the welcoming party. There was so much to do, so many to see, and so little time to do it all! We had Pong, Axeschlaggen, Liquid Gold, Barista Brew, Ass-Blaster, good food, and the occasional tossed dwarf; everything needed for an amazing time. Things were jumping!
The party was just reaching a fever pitch, when a small knot of silence started at the door. Then the angry yelling started, and I recognized Richter’s voice. With herculean effort - namely asking Kirk to toss me over the crowd - I arrived just in time to see Richter punch a dwarf I didn’t recognize in the face.
I had just enough time to shout “Richter! Watch out!” before I plowed into him and we fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Kirk had good aim!
“Get offa me, Pete! Comin’ here tonight! Yearns Yams, I’ll rip ‘im apart!” Richter had a far higher Strength than me, and easily stood while I desperately clung to his side like a squat hairy koala. Which was exactly like a regular koala, come to think of it.
“Richter, calm down! You’re making a scene!” I got a glance of Richter’s face and paled at what I saw there. His eyes were beginning to glow with an inner red light. He was reaching for a weapon, and he looked seconds away from losing control to the Red Rage. I grabbed him by the shoulder and whispered the first thing I could think of to shock him out of it. “Your bet with Bran about what I am, you won the bet.”
The red immediately fled from Richters eyes, and he stared at me in confusion.
“What?” He began. “You-”
“We’ll talk about it later. You probably have a ton of questions, but I do too. What’s going on?”
The dwarf he’d decked was rising to his feet, and I realised with shock that he looked a lot like an older version of Richter. He had the black skin and dreadlocked beard of a southern dwarf, though his skin was weathered and cracked with age. He stood with a slight stoop, unlike Richter’s upright stance, and wore glasses.
Richter scowled at him and answered my unasked question. “This billy-goat bearded bastard is me da, Otto Scree.”
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